"No; but William, he tells her about the gentlemen drinking them."


On the tenth day after my conversation with this unattractive child I
was in my brougham, with the windows up, and I sat back, a paper before
my face lest any one should look in. Naturally, I was afraid of being
seen in company of William's wife and Jenny, for men about town are
uncharitable, and, despite the explanation I had ready, might have
charged me with pitying William. As a matter of fact, William was
sending his wife into Surrey to stay with an old nurse of mine, and I
was driving her down because my horses needed an outing. Besides, I was
going that way at any rate.

I had arranged that the girl Jenny, who was wearing an outrageous
bonnet, should accompany us, because, knowing the greed of her class, I
feared she might blackmail me at the club.

William joined us in the suburbs, bringing the baby with him, as I had
foreseen they would all be occupied with it, and to save me the trouble
of conversing with them. Mrs. Hicking I found too pale and fragile for a
workingman's wife, and I formed a mean opinion of her intelligence from
her pride in the baby, which was a very ordinary one. She created quite
a vulgar scene when it was brought to her, though she had given me her
word not to do so, what irritated me even more than her tears being
her ill-bred apology that she "had been 'feared baby wouldn't know her
again." I would have told her they didn't know any one for years had I
not been afraid of the girl Jenny, who dandled the infant on her knees
and talked to it as if it understood. She kept me on tenter-hooks by
asking it offensive questions, such as, "'Oo know who give me that